Quotes About Desolation

I think you ought to know I'm feeling very depressed,' it said. Its voice was low and hopeless.

Where I am, it is always night.

Loneliness is everything it's cracked up to be.

An aching vacuum inside her sucking the air from her lungs. She hung her head and wept fiercely, the emptiness inside her growing larger not smaller; she felt as though it would grow so large it would suffocate her just as surely as the sea would have

Centralia, a mining town in Pennsylvania made uninhabitable by an underground fire that began in 1962 and is still burning today (the road into town bears the graffiti legend "Welcome to Hell");

Across the land, the semaphore towers stood deathly still.

My personal life is fairly barren.

I'm not a big fan of the post-Armageddon stories, where Denzel Washington is walking around in a torn coat.

Alone was the loneliest place on earth

Where people are gone the night falls upward, black and unmanned.

There seldom seemed to be a house left with a roof, or with anything much beyond its four walls, and quite often they must lie staring up at the stars, which would stare back again, aloof and untroubled.

The grey of a bitter, starved-looking morning. The town like a mortally wounded creature, torn by shells, gashed open by bombs. Dead streets - streets of death - death in streets and their houses; yet people still able to sleep and still sleeping.

There are people who have an appetite for grief; pleasure is not strong enough and they crave pain. They have mithridatic stomachs which must be fed on poisoned bread, natures so doomed that no prosperity can sooth their ragged and dishevelled desolation.

Something's died in me," she goes. "It took a long time for it to do it, but it's dead. You've killed something, just like you'd took an axe to it. Everything is dirt now.

It is not a fragrant world.

I was as hollow and empty as the spaces between stars.

My childhood lacked affection and ambience.

One can never know for sure what a deserted area looks like.

To be inside an abandoned mall is surreal. Often times I feel like I'm the last person alive on the planet.

The wet air was as cold as the ashes of love.

I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets.

Then there were no more houses, just the burnt foothills and the cement ribbon and a sheer drop on the left into the coolness of a nameless canyon, and on the right heat bouncing off the seared clay bank at whose edge a few unbeatable wild flowers clawed and hung on like naughty children who won't go to bed.

A city no worse than others, a city rich and vigorous and full of pride, a city lost and beaten and full of emptiness.

I was as empty of life as a scarecrow's pockets.